Pages

Tuesday, July 25, 2017

Trip 2

Shadows stretch like timeless sundials
this day in Wolverton Meadow

The sky is clear, the air is fresh
birds sing, among other cliche things

On days like this the warmth is tangible
and I can't help but wonder, why am I here?


BTS

Friday, July 21, 2017

To The Bone

What a joy it is
to crave flavour
on your tongue
sweet, salty, savory
bitter-
because as the day's hours
funnel into one
rarely do you truly feel
hunger.



BTS

Saturday, July 15, 2017

A Prayer

Heartbreak messes you up. It screws you up so bad that sometimes you think the only way you'll be able to recover is to fall for someone else and screw yourself up all over again.

Nothing will ever work out in the way that you want it to. That's the reality. God or whoever you are that is watching over me and my life and has given me so much and made me so lucky, please give me the strength to help me get over this.

Otherwise, I'll never be the same again.



This is the current me.
BTS

Tuesday, July 4, 2017

Someone Feel Alive

What do I want in a person who I would be able to spend the rest of my life with?

Someone I'm comfortable with, who I can be myself around
who I never get tired of being with, can grow and change with
loves me for me, even if I don't know who that is yet

Someone I can start a family and grow old with
build a life with, knowing that wherever I am 
is wherever you are, vice versa, and that, is home


Someone who makes me feel ALIVE




That's what I need right now.



BTS

Saturday, July 1, 2017

Tell Me About Your Life./Make Good Art.

WHY? What is the point in telling you about myself when it does nothing to improve my circumstances? You don't know me. Yes, I post my thoughts online, but you know nothing at all. Whatever I project about myself on the outside reveals very little about what's actually going on in the inside.

My perspective on the world is nothing interesting. Extroverts and people people wonder about me all the time. About who I am, what I do, and how someone like me sees the world and other people.

"Someone like me."

This is where the inner tears fall. They think I'm some kind of hidden gem or a puzzle. Someone who that if you stuck around and dug a little deeper would be someone who is worth sticking around for. The truth is however, that I am neither of those things.

I'm a simple being, and less complicated than you think. I see the world through a straw, and not many things are able to come through the filter. Hows that for normal?

I try and fake it but I'm as cynical and self absorbed as they come, weak, and single beat. My life line is a dead heartbeat that rarely oscillates. You can try to pretend that you're special or worthy of being revered, but the truth is that I'm no one. And I hate it.

If there ever were a time someone realized that they couldn't change who they are in order to be happy, that would be the story of my life. I'm not happy this way but I can't change it. No matter how hard I try. I'm only human.

I'm a screw up. Brat, woman-child, and I can't change it for shoot. It's fact. Ingrained. And though I know enough about myself and psychology to probably tell you why I became this way, it doesn't change the fact that everyone else's lifelines beat up and down superfluously while mine follows a line.


Writing is my therapy.

Why is writing and any creative profession so important to other people?

Anytime I hear authors or creators speak about themselves and their work they always sound so self absorbed and obsessed. My work means something, they'll say while elaborating more about how adding a smooth curve to a ruffle or a certain nostalgic taste to a food they are making makes it that much more special.

Creativity is a selfish profession. It focuses on an artist's vision, or work, as an extension of themselves, and is a luxury that isn't necessarily needed in society.

Why hear about why someone else's life is so special when you have to focus on living your own? The answer is because we're alive.

We love artists and creators because they don't hesitate to put their livelihoods on the line. Anything to prove that they existed, this is their life, and it's just as important as your own. We admire them because they are brave.

Radical, even, because no matter how long it takes or how many failures they accrue, they will never stop taking the chance to put themselves and their work out there. We respect them for it.

They do what some of us are never able to do ourselves.

And I love being able to look at another person's work and being able to see the "who" it is that I'm addressing and talk to them about their lives. WHO are you? Honestly, I don't quite know, but I'm figuring it out. Here's what I've done so far: As are you.





These days I'm leaning more towards human services as a career option. Rather than creativity, which doesn't pay and isn't really needed, I really want to do some good and leave my mark on society. To change the world for the better and keep an open ear.

As a writer maybe I'm aspiring to record new experiences and understand people and the world better? However, no matter what I end up doing I'll always come back to creativity.

While you are out there thinking and breathing, toiling in your day to day, stressing out about a relationship or an enormous pile of work you have left to do or what shitty mayhem may greet you when you come home, stop and listen to that voice for a moment.

One that we all hear, coming from artists and other lost souls. The voice of the passerby, who's subdued voices will always softly beckon, "Hey you, talk to me, here is my work, it is proof that I exist."



Sidenote: On writing as a serious career option. 

I'm not a creative writing major so my knowledge on the literary world is very limited. From what I do know however, is that it seems to be strict and formal. When anyone says they want to become a writer or a fashion designer, one would automatically assume that they are shooting for the stars of the literary or designer greats.

When it comes to writing however, I just do whatever. Not that it's a bad thing to know what you are doing and have a solid foundation in the arts, I just don't want to be someone who follows standards and everyone else feels they must measure up to and just enjoy it.

Writing is my therapy. It's one of the best ways that I'm able to express myself and one of the most natural things I've ever done. It gives me the freedom to take life at my own pace and explore and heal and grow as much as this world will allow. I've known this since I was a kid but I never entertained it as a career option because I already knew how to speak English and never thought that I was good enough to write anything.

Looking back on my choices, I still don't know where this will take me or whether or not it will be able to become a career to support me in the future, but I love it because I enjoy it, and because I'm fucking depressed and need some sort of outlet, and the minute it starts to feel like work that's when I know it's over. 

It's not a crime to enjoy your work, but I plan to enjoy this while it lasts. And to borrow the words of Neil Gaiman, "Make Good Art" along the way.